


Original Sin

by ASOUEfan



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Angst!, Attempted Murder, Awkward First Times, Consensual, Drinking to Cope, Esme be crazy, F/F, Femslash, Gratuitous Smut, Isn't that what always happens?, Loneliness, Minor Violence, Obsession, Post-Canon, The Sugar Bowl, Threats of Violence, they're both a bit broken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-14 10:35:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18050873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASOUEfan/pseuds/ASOUEfan
Summary: In the years after Those Unfortunate Events, the City has moved on, but Esme has not. She is no longer the popular socialite she once was, but holed up in her penthouse and fixated on The Sugar Bowl, and Violet Baudelaire, she struggles to distinguish whats real and whats not.Violet has been keeping tabs on the woman with fascination, determined not to forget what happened to her and her siblings. But she knows she has to right the wrong that started the whole string of Unfortunate Events off.She must return The Sugar Bowl to Esme Squalor.





	1. Chapter 1

Esme stood in front of her wardrobe and sighed. Absolutely _nothing_ ‘in’ to wear. She sighed and slammed the doors shut, raging at the shitty wooden piece of furniture and the pinstripe wallpaper that was _so not_ “in” anymore. Not that anyone ever came round for her to care.

She sighed and flopped down onto the chaise. Since Olaf had given up on the Baudelaires - dying was not an excuse, he gave up - last she heard they were on some Island in the middle of nowhere, had they even returned? Life had gotten so _dull._  

She needed excitement. She needed a distraction, and annoyingly the only thing she could keep thinking about was the bloody Baudelaires. 

It had been 5 years and she had been to every _in_ restaurant and drank every _in_ cocktail and she was still bored and lonely, seeing as Jerome left her and then died too (shame, that fire and all) and everyone in town _knew_ what she had done with Olaf. Or they thought they knew. They thought it was all about the fortune. Ha! Silly Cityfolk, she didn't need money. 

She needed excitement.  

“Get out of my head!” She raged, and marched across the bright marble floor, cold and hard, the room empty like her heart. She leant on the window and stared across the rain spattered city. Life was boring without Olaf. Without the chase. Without the costumes. 

Without Violet. 

Her fist slammed against the glass, seeing the girls reflection in front of her. “Rrrgghh!” 

The young woman took a few steps forward and hooked her hand around the strap of her handbag, hanging from her shoulder. “You should be careful.”

Esme rolled her eyes and swung round, jaw jutting out to one side. “What?”

Violet bit her bottom lip slightly. Maybe coming here wasn’t a good idea. “Banging your fist like that. The glass could break.” She heard her own words hanging empty and ignored in the cavernous room. It had been so many years since she and her siblings were first here, adopted by the woman before her. But that was then. Before she tried to murder them all and chased them across the Hinterlands and back, simply because she felt like it. Its not like they had her Sugar Bowl then. 

“Dear God I am truly losing my mind,” Esme poured herself an overly generous drink of something exotic and blue, screeching at Violet as she careered across the room toward her. “I’m seeing things. I’m seeing things!” Her hands exclaimed aggressively, tossing back the contents of her alcoholic beverage and feeling the warming haze creep up her throat as she hunched her shoulders forwards, and pointed a finger in Violets face. “I’ve told you before you bothersome Baudelaire, I don't want you in my head any longer. I don't want you, and your insipid face looking all lost and orphan-y at me.” She narrowed her eyes, as if willing the apparition away. Nothing happened and a frustrated grunt escaped her lips before tainting them blue with more drink. 

“I only just got here,” Violet replied cautiously, a little confused and a little … something else. She couldn't place the emotion that twisted in her. Was it pity? Was she feeling sorry for the woman that aided and abetted Count Olaf, that kidnapped her baby sister and put her in a cage on a frozen mountain? Who would have willingly let her die of that terrible fungus? It couldn't be. 

“No, you’ve been here before. A lot.” She turned on the spot and strode away, her arms shooting up above her losing the glass carelessly. “A lot!” It smashed behind her, faint blue liquid pooling and ebbing with nowhere to go. 

Perhaps she had been up here on her own too long. 667 Dark Avenue was not the socialite capital it used to be. Violet had read the Daily Punctillio reports of how Esme Squalor was always where she should be, always at the latest _in_ establishment, but never with guests. Or friends. Or associates she could pay to be Henchpeople. 

It _was_ guilt. 

Thats what Violet was feeling right in that moment. Her bag weighed heavily on her shoulder, heavier than a china Sugar Bowl should weigh, for it was more than the weight of the material but the weight of what it meant. To her for hanging onto it all these years in a messed up sense of hope Esme would realise where it had been this whole time and come find her. What it meant to Esme that she had gone to the lengths she had done to find it, until everyone had abandoned her and her mad quest. Even Olaf dumped her at the Hotel Denouement over it. 

It was just a Sugar Bowl after all. VFD had removed the highly important contents since the fire at the Hotel Denouement. So it really was just a china Sugar Bowl. But it was all Violet had had left of the her. The woman who had been more present in her life through her formative years, who had plagued her mind with dreams and nightmares ever since, in a confusing melting pot of immature sexuality, desperation for human connection, and Stockholm syndrome. Though she wondered if one could get Stockholm syndrome from being trapped in a situation, if it were not a literal basement she were trapped in. It had been a prison like existence after all, the lack of control over her life, always knowing  Esme would be there one stilleto’d step behind her. But then there were dreams. 

“Fernald works as the doorman now. That’s curious,” Violet curtailed her thoughts with an observation that could hopefully bring Esme to present day, instead of the dire visions that she thought plagued her. Though it struck her that, Esme had apparently been thinking of her. _Could it be that - ?_ No, Violet pushed the pesky thoughts from her mind. Just because she had had a strange fixation over Esme; over the years she had put it down to being thrust into an adult world before her time. 

But now she _was_ an adult, inheritor of a sizeable fortune and care taker of her siblings and Kit Snicket’s baby; and there was no reason to still chase the stories of Esme Squalor in the daily newspaper. She was no danger to them anymore. But read the stories she did, with a sort of macabre fascination, needing to know the woman’s exploits and daily goings-on, telling herself (and sometimes Klaus) that it was important never to forget what had happened to them, or the threat of Olaf and Esme. That keeping an eye on Esme was important work, and that she was not obsessed. 

“Who on earth is Fernald?” Esme asked in a semi-crazed exasperation. “Who looks at a baby and thinks ‘Oh I know you look like a Fernald!’ what a ridiculous name,” She drawled, looking around for her glass, apparently confused that it was no longer in her hand. 

“The Hook handed man,” Violet explained, placing her bag down to step delicately across the floor avoiding the broken shards of glass, to pour a second martini shaped glass of blue curaco. She drew Esme’s attention by placing her hand gently on her arm. The woman snapped her head to the touch with wide expressive eyes. Violet offered her the glass with a small smile. “And, if I had been here before, surely he would have told you?” 

“Right, yes that’s right.” Esme nodded, and without realising what she was doing, she patted her hand over Violet’s. “So if you're really here Violet Baudelaire, little …  virtuous Violet with your vexatious hair ribbons and silly child like fringe …. you could do so much more with your hair than that but that’s just an aside; let’s just run with that for a moment shall we, that if you’re really here, then you clearly have some sort of death wish.” Her fingers had curled around Violet’s hand, taking the drink in her other hand of course and knocking it down in one quick swallow, giving Violet the empty glass back. Violet was struggling to follow the stream of consciousness style monologue that poured from Esme’s beautiful lips. Violet shook her head at herself. _Don't focus on that. Why are you looking at her lips?_ Her dark all consuming eyes that held her in her formidable gaze. “Was all that vicious villainy not enough for you?” When Violet seemed not to step back or scare from the fiery threats that Esme spouted, she narrowed her eyes. She took Violet’s hand from her arm and drew it closer to her body, pulling the girl to her. Violet’s heart beat a little faster bearing herself so close to Esme Squalor. “Are you as bored and listless as I am?” Esme murmured softly, tilting her head a little to really peer at Violet’s pale complexion. She reached out tentatively, and brushed Violet’s cheek with the tips of her fingers. There was a sudden spark that shocked her, her hand snapping away momentarily only to reach back and cup her cheek more purposefully. “It took me a while to come up with all those things to rhyme with Violet. Did you like it? I was rather impressed with it myself,” She hummed, and smiled. Her thumb rubbed over Violet’s cheek gently, with a strange ideation. 

“That villainy was more than 5 years ago, Esme. I’m not a child anymore and I’m not scared of you. I never was,” Violet admitted under a shuddered breath. Was it the fear ingrained in her having Esme holding her so? Or, the other thing. _Don’t be so absurd Violet she couldn't possibly …_   What mattered was her heart was thumping a little harder and her voice couldn't form the true sounds of words, only the breathy utterance of them, and she wanted nothing more than to push forwards and press her lips to Esme’s. “And, they weren't rhymes. Rhymes are things that sound the same, what you were doing was alliteration. Words that start with the same first letter collectively in a sentence.”

“Oh whatever, I liked it.” Esme straightened her tall frame and drew her shoulders slowly back, posing her impressive feminine figure before Violet as though some ideal vision of womanhood. With a flick of a hand she added, “And I thought it might impress you.”

“I’m confused, a moment ago you thought you were imagining me and that I wasn’t really here.” Violet must have sounded a little too incredulous for Esme’s liking, because the woman suddenly snatched her throat in one hand, a surprising strength to her arm, sharp nails digging into the milky white flesh of the eldest Baudelaire. 

“But you _are_ here Violet Baudelaire, the only question I’ve got for you is why?” Esme demanded, loosening her fingers only for a moment to be able to scratch her nails down the girls throat with a threatening air. “Why now?” She reached the girl’s collarbone and tickled along it, tapping it and turning her lips into a smirk at the hollow sound. How fragile she felt under her touch, how easily those hollow bones could just, snap.

Violet tipped her head just slightly, the tiny hairs along the back of her neck rising fearfully, her cheek almost brushing against Esme’s hand. It wasn’t even purposeful, but when she felt that touch her breath rolled out her lips. “I was worried about you,” She answered softly. 

“Worried? How sweet.” Esme released Violet from her magnetic touch, to sling her hand over her hip and purse her lips disapprovingly. “How sickening.” The slow knife edge articulation of each consonant made Violets stomach twist. “Especially considering you're lying.” Esme’s voice turned dark. It made the younger woman take a shaky backward step. “Trust me Violet you may have forgotten the inordinate amount of time I spent trying to kill you or at least capture you, but I did actually learn a thing or two about you while I was at it.” 

She lowered her eyes submissively, concentrating on controlling her breathing. Esme was presenting a direct threat now, _or was she?_ Staying calm, and quiet, was the best solution. The way Esme held herself, the angle of her arm outward, her hand upward, the angle at which she tilted her head to allow her eyes to burn a trail down Violet’s body. A slow, devouring trail that seemed all too pleased with what it saw. 

Violet’s mind strayed, unable to express herself, present herself to this woman or garner her respect, her admiration. “How could I forget you,” She murmured, her cheeks flushing. 

Esme chuckled lowly. “You couldn’t, obviously. I couldn't forget me either.” She shrieked a laugh that echoed through the empty suite of rooms, shattering the tension that had been building between them. When her gaze fell back onto Violet, whose features remained still, serious, she smirked once again. “Do I … detect something?” 

Violet’s eyes widened a little, a glimmer of panic. “What?”

She was indeed _very_ pleased with what she saw. The vein in Violet’s neck beat blue with fervour, her lips parted just slightly, just enough to inadvertently tease Esme with a touch of her tongue over her bottom lip. “How…curious, as one might say.” Esme felt something tingle up her spine that she had not felt in a long time. 

What a thrill. 

Esme urged forward and kissed Violet out of the blue, cupping the back of her head with one hand, taking gentle hold of her hip with the other. Violet whined into the kiss despite herself, muffled and wanting with disorganised hands pawing at Esme’s waist. This had not been her plan, but the turn of events were surprisingly pleasing to Violet. Esme gave the girls hip a squeeze, breaking the kiss only for a moment, purring between Violet’s lips. “You didn't pull away.”

The girl shook her head silently.

“Have you got … a crush?” Esme squeaked, clapping her hands hurriedly. The sense invigorated Esme, those forgotten feelings that had lain dormant for recent years and were most likely responsible for the way she had _let herself go_ were now returning in vivid technicolour. “On me…?” Esme caught her finger under Violet’s chin, making sure the girl’s darting eyes focused on her. 

“I think the feeling is mutual, Esme.”

The woman swung her weight onto one hip. “Oh please, do you really think I’ve been pacing up and down this extraordinarily expensive parlour waiting till you were all grown up to -“

“You said you had seen me here many times.” Violet cut in. She filled her chest with a deep breath before expunging her quickly formed theory, wanting to steer Esme in the direction she needed. That she had her Sugar Bowl. That she had to get this secret off her chest and that she hadn't wanted to think about her every day, just the same. “That means you've been thinking about me. Imagining me here. Thats why you didn't think it was really me when I first walked in.” She argued competently. 

 _What a brat. She thinks she knows everything_. Esme scoffed inwardly. 

“Admit it,” Violet pressed harder, folding her arms and following Esme out the parlour and down the hall. “Esme!”  She was in part questioning her choice to so forcefully state the facts, wondering if Esme had some sort of mental break because of it, wandering off through the penthouse mid way through their conversation. 

Esme checked over one shoulder. “You admit it!” She retorted childishly. Continuing her journey she smiled victoriously to herself, having confirmed Violet was following after her. 

Violet shook her head. “No!” 

In an unforeseen burst of action, Esme lunged for Violet’s throat once again, throwing her against the wall with an astonishing amount of strength. “Then why are you here?!” She growled, demanding more than platitudes and irritating cross-analyses that should be directed the other way around. _She_ was the one in charge here. _She_ was the one who could have ended the chase, ended the life of Violet Bloody Baudelaire any time she wanted, but the game of cat and mouse had been far too fun and Olaf had been her boyfriend so it was a complicated situation. 

Violet’s hand lifted shakily, and caught the edge of Esme’s hip. She ignored the narrowing of her airway, the squeeze on her throat. She ignored how Esme used her height to pin her to the wall forearm pressing across her chest. She had to ignore it, for this time she couldn't look away. Her fingers slid under the hem of the woman’s pinstripe shirt. Figure fitting and complimentary though it was Violet didn't want it there, she wanted to find the woman underneath. As her fingertips grazed Esme’s bare skin she felt a rush between her legs more powerful than anything she had been able to conjure up with mere thought alone. 

Such confirmation made her bold. “Take me to bed.” 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The woman couldn't believe herself, and as the corners of her mouth drew into a satisfied smile, she offered her hand out for Violet to take. “Come along then.” As soon as Violet’s unsteady fingers slipped between her own, she led her toward the bed, only releasing her hand to turn the girl away from her. At the head of the bed was a mirror, the full width of the bed and tall enough that even sitting up the voluptuous bed one would see all of oneself reflected. Esme wanted Violet to watch herself, watch her body blossom and how it was about to be corrupted. Esme pressed her body close behind Violet, brushing her long dark hair over one shoulder to expose the fastenings of the girls dress. “This dress is better than the last time you came here.” She unhooked the first two hook and eye fastenings, then progressed to the buttons. 

Violet’s stomach tightened, her anticipation heightening in short bursts down her body, feeling the slender caresses of Esme’s fingers on her skin. “Do you like it?” She murmured, brushing her hair with her fingers idly keeping it out the woman’s way. She couldn't quite believe she was here, not just a bystander to her own imaginings, but truly here, in this moment, her awareness of the world and the rights and wrongs of it lost entirely.

“Psh, darling please,” Esme laughed derisively. “Its ugly as sin.” She held Violet in place as she leaned back for a moment, judging the rest of the distance she needed to expose the girls back, before curling the edges of the cotton in her hands and wrenching them apart. “Why do you think I'm ripping it off you?” 

The sudden violence made Violet gasp, her skin prickling to the cool air now the material pooled around her hips. She growled wanting to turn and tell her off, she just literally tore her dress! But the woman’s fingers dug firmly into her shoulder, and watching her reaction in the mirror, so self satisfied and proud of herself, Violet didn't want to disappoint her. So she bit her bottom lip in. The silence didn't dissuade Esme, in fact it seemed to encourage her. With a practiced flair she ripped the rest of the dress down the seam until it fell away from Violets body, and Esme tossed it carelessly aside. 

What was she going to return home in? How was she going to explain such a thing to Klaus? Those worries were not things she could contemplate on when Esme’s long fingers played over the elastic hem of her cotton panties. “Esme -“ 

“Yes darling?” Esme watched their reflections in the mirror with amusement, knowing how the girl was about to become undone. How Olaf would have treasured such a sight, but now this was all for her. 

“There ..” She whimpered, the material rubbing over something sensitive, something that made her knees buckle, her stomach tighten somewhere deep in her core. She had tried herself of course, read things, but none had had the effect of Esme’s confident touch.

“Oh I know,” Esme hummed into the young woman’s ear, pressing her thumb over Violet’s clit, nudging back up and then down again. Her sly smile was brimming with self indulgence as Violet clung to Esme’s arm, yelping at the sensations. “Despite your speculation I have done this before.” Esme obliged her young guest a little, hooking her arm around the girl’s waist to hold her back to her, hold her up should her legs lose strength. “Have you?” Her fingers released pressure only momentarily, to lift up and slither inside the girls pants finally, skin on skin and parting her folds, competently navigating the meandering bows and peaks of the girls anatomy. “No, don't tell me.” 

Violet couldn't breathe, and arched her back curving her chest out to expand her lungs in an effort not to forget ones most basic functions. Breathe. Blink. Keep a hold of yourself. But she could see how much Esme was enjoying herself, how she purred and doted on her body. She knew Esme could interpret her own body’s reactions, easing her fingers this way and that between her moist thighs swimming them around her entrance hypnotically. She felt a brief kiss on her neck, making her shudder. It couldn't have been a nuzzle. She couldn't imagine Esme was a woman to nuzzle. Though, her mind had made up many versions of her, and of this, over the years. Fantasised imaginations changing her desires and expectations each time. Ideations aside, she became too pre-occupied with the fever inducing incessant motions of Esme’s fingers, and had to reach her arm up to hook onto the back of Esme’s neck, give her some form of purchase in what was quickly becoming more than anything she could have cooked up in her own mind. With such leverage, her hips inadvertently bucked onto Esme’s hand, hungry for more. 

“Such an eager little Orphan.” Her hand snapped away, making Violet moan and gasp all at once, the sudden emptiness between her legs a disappointing shock, but also the tightness of the cotton sticking to the slick wetness Esme had created. “Let’s see how much you’ve grown up shall we?” With a quick swing of the shoulders, she spun Violet round and pushed her over the edge of the bed. She hitched her own skirt up to allow her to kneel over the young woman, straddling her hips as Violet shimmied up the bed. 

Violet couldn't help the groan that escaped her lips, reaching up to knot her fingers in Esme’s long tousled hair, pulling her down into a possessive kiss. Esme pushed her tongue between Violet’s teeth determined not to be outdone. They panted in a sort of symbiotic rhythm, Esme’s warm breath tickling Violets bare neck, Violet biting at Esme’s ear. As her hands trailed from her hair down her shoulders, she gripped at Esme’s shirt and dug her fingers through the material, crying out as Esme plunged two long fingers right up inside Violets wet and welcoming centre, not wanting to waste any time. 

Esme watched the girls expression with glee. “There…,” She hummed, pumping her fingers slowly at first, manoeuvring her hand to twist her fingers inside her, knuckles rubbing around Violets entrance threatening more. “You’ve definitely never had anything inside you, have you?” She continued the swaying and swirling pumping motion of her fingers, her hand held in place by Violet’s thighs clenching tightly around her. 

Violets eyes pressed shut with shame, feeling like an awkward teenager again. But Esme just stroked her fingers along Violet’s jawline, encouraging her to open her eyes again. She pinched Violet’s chin in her thumb and fingers more forcefully making her look. “So you _are_ a virgin,” She hummed, smirking cynically down at her prey. Violet was caught in that magnetic aura that Esme used to be in such control of, attracting adoring fans, mainly men though the occasional woman had joined. That self-confidence that oozed from every angle you saw her, in awe of the knowledge that an intelligent business woman - the 6th most important financial advisor in the city in fact, could also be fashionable, beautiful, the very definition of _in_. 

That was then, the Esme of 5 years ago, no doubt the one that Violet remembered. She had slipped, a little. Dressing for herself and not the adoration of others had meant she had failed to keep up with what was ‘ _in_ ’; her social circle dwindling that most of the time she pleased only herself with such frivolity. But now, she had Violet, and so willingly captured. 

“Not anymore,” Violet replied huskily, a quick learner to Esme’s ministrations, beginning to move her hips in time with Esme’s fingers. “They say you never forget your first…,” She trailed off, inadvertently showing her naivety, with a sweet smile. Esme fed off the girl’s devotion, feeling her old self coming back with each passing moment.  

Esme flicked her hair over one shoulder clearing her way to lean down, clawing Violet’s bra out of the way, but  pausing just before her lips made contact with the soft skin of Violet’s breast. “Oh I’m going to make sure of it,” She threatened darkly, before taking Violet’s nipple into her warm mouth, licking the hardened red nub of nerves, grazing its edges with her teeth. 

“Fuck!” Violet cried out, the experience overwhelming her sense. She had never felt anything like it, the twist in her gut and the tightening between her legs as she felt the sharp edge of Esme’s teeth on her. “Esme it hurts!” 

“I know darling,” She released her for only a fleeting moment, kissing her hard on the lips, distracting her. “That’s what makes it so good,” Esme drawled, dipping her head to give the girl’s swollen nipple another lick. 

Violet panted, falling apart at the seams. The tightenings between her legs, somewhere deep in her core seemed to be rolling over her like waves. Her muscles were starting to ache, she felt bruised inside, both figuratively and literally. But for all the discomfort, it felt _so damn good_. She couldn't bear the thought of Esme stopping. Despite herself, she fumbled her hands to the neckline of Esme’s shirt, unbuttoning it with desperate fingers. If she was going to do this to her, she damn well wanted to touch her too. 

Her eyebrows raised, surprised at the girl’s desire. “There’s no stopping you is there, Baudelaire.” Her fingers slowed for a while as she sat up and Violet pushed herself up onto her elbows just enough she could reach and undo the woman’s shirt properly, pushing it over her shoulders and off. Though holding her stomach muscles tight to sit up like that made the ache between her legs worsen, she pushed through it to try and reach around Esme’s waist for her bra strap. “Uh - !” Esme shoved her down by the shoulders and slapped her across the cheek. “I don't think you’ve earned that quite yet.” She spat, taking a handful of Violet’s breast angrily in one hand squeezing and gripping the flesh unrelentingly as she gave the girl a deeper thrust , using her thumb to flick over her clit at the same time. 

Something inside Violet snapped, and her body gave in unable to hold together in the face of such determined hands. Her neck arched as her hips thrust upwards, taking fistfuls of bed sheet for want of something to keep her purchased, her knees buckling up tightening and fixing as she shook, bearing down then onto Esme’s fingers as she came, hard. 

Esme kept the pressure firm though the girls orgasm, ensuring it went on as long as possible. She stood her ground, moment after moment, the girl twitching desperately underneath her, until she finally released a little and she felt the girl flood over her fingers. A charming, melodic moan broke from Violet’s lips. “Good girl,” Esme soothed, unexpectedly. She took a long breath in, sitting up and back on her haunches. She released Violet’s breast from the pain of her nails digging in, simultaneously letting her fingers slip out, ceremoniously wiping them somewhat clean over the outside of Violets panties. 

The sudden tightness of the material over her centre, her clit, made Violet lurch a little, her head falling to one side, eyes closed as she let herself catch her breath. She tentatively placed her hands on Esme’s thighs, exposed from her skirt still hitched up, still straddling Violet’s hips. A small smile flickered across Violet’s lips, though Esme wasn’t looking. She was staring at herself in the mirror, idly combing her wavy platinum blonde hair with her fingers. There was a slight pinking to her cheeks, a glistening shine to her lips where Violet had kissed them, bitten them. Esme smiled. This suited her.  

When she had finished admiring herself in the mirror, Esme reluctantly climbed off her. She shimmied her skirt back down her thighs, putting her hands on her hips searching silently for her shirt. Her eyes flicked back to the girl in her bed, who had curled over, drawn her knees up. She wondered how Violet felt. 

Her head snapped away, narrowing her eyes at nothing in particular, at herself. _How was Violet feeling? What was that? Sentiment?_ She scoffed at herself and paced over to the vanity to select a new blouse, spray her neck with a fresh air perfume, sliding a few silver clips into her hair to keep it from her face. She didn't have time or effort to style it now, but this would at least do. Violet seemed to approve of the loose look anyway. “Violet.” She put her hands on her hips, tilting her head examiningly at her guest. “Orphan!” She shook her head at her, pulling open a drawer in her vanity and picking out a silver stamped case and a lighter. The tin held some very expensive cigarettes, which she didn't really smoke but used to look the part in certain circles. But for some reason she had the urge for something between her fingers to fiddle with, so lit one up and took a sharp drag into her lungs. 

Violet still hadn't responded, opting for keeping her eyes closed and hanging onto the feelings reverberating around her body. If she sat up, opened her eyes and remembered she was in Esme Squalor’s penthouse, mostly naked and sprawled in the same woman’s bed; then she would have to face the facts in front of her. That she had nothing wear home. That the Sugar Bowl was hidden in her bag. That she had just given herself to someone who had once (or twice) tried to murder her for the fun of it. 

She rolled her eyes, and stalked back to the bed. Esme gave Violets hips a nudge as she perched herself on the edge of the bed. “Cigarette?” 

 


	3. Chapter 3

“I don’t smoke,” Violet murmured, being forced to engage with the situation once again. She leant up on one elbow, dark hair tumbling over her back and shoulders, a few tiny purple bruises spattered across her chest just visible from under the cup of her bra. 

Esme offered it to her anyway. “You should. Perhaps you’d be less uptight.” 

The girl looked at it, unconvinced. Obliging, she took it awkwardly, needing to sit up to rearrange it in her fingers all amateurish. “It doesn’t seem to have helped you very much.” She took a short puff on the cigarette, coughing hoarsely afterwards. “Did you know smoking can give you bad skin?” Violet said, as if making conversation, passing the cigarette back to Esme. 

She promptly marched back over to the wooden vanity and stubbed the thing out on the inside of the silver case, snapping it shut. “Know it all,” She muttered insultingly. Turning back slowly, she folded her arms, getting bored with the latest addition to her bedroom. She had been good fun. But now she was being a kill-joy. Maybe Esme’s plan wouldn't be as much fun as she thought. 

While Esme was busy thinking, Violet had shifted achingly to the edge if the bed and dragged the top sheet with her, wrapping it around herself making a sort of toga. “Could I, maybe borrow something to wear?” She walked quietly over to the older woman, breaking her concentration when she reached her hand to Esme’s hip, smiling up at her. She felt fairly exposed like this, even with the sheet saving her dignity a little, her underwear was uncomfortable, wet and cold. But she was also oddly proud of the mess she found herself in; she felt grown up, sexy. Like this is what she should've been doing at 17, not racing around the Hinterlands being chased by Count Olaf. Or at 18 suddenly being responsible for a new born baby. But Beatrice was 5 now. Sunny was 8. And she was a freer to be, well, a little irresponsible here and there. 

Esme pursed her lips and searched the flowing material for a way in, snaking her arm around Violets back and pulling her hips to hers possessively. “No. I like you like that.” 

Violet peeked up from under her fringe, flicking her head a little to sort the messy strands out and feeling full of herself enough to kiss Esme on the cheek, half nuzzling into her, more than she should. She couldn't help the attachment that she was feeling, even though it probably wasn’t Esme’s thing. “But how am I going to get home?” She leant her body against Esme’s, hoping it was what she wanted, seeing as her hands continued to touch and pull and knead at her hips. 

“Who said you're going anywhere,” Esme laughed cynically. “You wouldn't be the first person to think I’m not as ‘ _in’_ as I should be.” She yanked the girls makeshift clothing aside, to play with the elastic hem of her panties, snapping it against her bare skin. It had been long enough now, only being allowed to feel good about herself when she was having her photo taken, then later finding it somewhere _other_ than the front page. Staring out the window or off the balcony cursing the dragonfly couture she did not own. She was not a woman to be second best. Not a woman to be taken for granted, or even cast aside as Olaf once did though she wasn’t going to think about that. “Too long!” She began. “Too long have I been on page 2 or even page 3 of the Daily Punctilio but I say, no longer! I, Esme Squalor am going to be the ‘innest’ woman in the city once again. And you're going to help me,” She informed her by the form of long self indulgent monologue. 

“Help you?” Violet repeated back, confused. 

Esme was getting her stride back. She could feel it cursing through her veins like an injection of something refreshing and savoury far better than any parsley soda. “Did you lose your ability to hear full sentences when you lost your virginity? Yes, I said you're going to help me Violet Baudelaire because guess what? Mistresses are so very, very _in_.” 

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. It was too incredulous to think about. She toppled back a step as Esme flung open the doors of yet another wardrobe and held up various tops and dresses to her mostly naked frame, eyeing up her size and style. It seemed Esme wanted a new pet, a new project, something to propel her into the limelight she hadn’t been able to find since her exploits chasing Violet and her siblings around were no longer being documented. She may have only wanted the Sugar Bowl, but the whole adventure had made her rather famous and Violet knew there was a part of her that wanted that back. “Don’t you have to be in a relationship to have a mistress?” 

“You’ll need heels,” She stated absently plotting her newest plan and what was required. With Violet at her side she would be newsworthy once again, and if Violet was indeed to be following her around as she so desired - a plan that would benefit the both of them no doubt, then she would have to look the part. Deciding on a rather dazzling gold pair of stiletto heels with ankle straps, she carried on. “My husband died in a fire, terrible shame I had to inherit all his money. Enough to keep you. Ha!” She shoved the decided outfit into Violets arms and waved her away to get dressed. “Besides, I’m actually doubly lucky because being a rich a beautiful widow is _also_ so very in.”

Violet was so confused she couldn't quiet decide which ridiculous question she had to ask first. The contradictory notion of asking to borrow clothes, only to be told no, to the minutes later be handed an outfit and shoes, which is what she wanted in the first place, was by itself the least of complicated statements she had to unravel. Esme wanted her to stay. She wanted her to stay, and tell everyone about it. She _wanted_ , her. “I don’t want your money.” Or was she being used? The idea sent a chill up Violet’s back. 

“But you want _me_. Your body told me that,” Esme said slyly. 

Violet’s cheeks burn. “You’re awful.” She clutched the clothes over herself a little tighter, looking around for somewhere to dress where Esme couldn't watch her. Moments ago she would have liked it, knowing Esme was courting her body with her eyes as she dressed for the first time in her new Esme-approved clothes. But now, she wasn’t so sure.

Esme stalked after her, twisting Violet’s hair round her fingers and tugging her head back. “And you love it,” She articulated in a slow, throbbing sort of melody that spoke right into Violet’s core. 

“What happened to you?” She shuddered, her cheeks reddening from how turned on she was becoming, though it disgusted her. 

Esme touched the lightest of kisses to Violet’s ear before whispering. “The Sugar Bowl.” Releasing both the girls hair and body like a snake retreating from a poisoned creature, her features struck a despondent tone as she tried to put the thoughts of it out of her mind. It had a fruitless disappointment searching for it, and wouldn't let herself start wallowing in the lack of revenge - though this was becoming quite promising in that respect. 

Violet steeled herself to what she knew she had to do. If she was going to have any chance of repairing Esme enough their liaison could be repeated, then she needed to right this original sin. She turned suddenly and tossing the clothes on the bed as she passed she strode out the room purposefully, only the sheet held around her slender frame. “Where are you going?” Esme demanded loudly, frowning after her. When it was clear Violet want stopping she began to follow after her. “I was in the middle of announcing to you your new purpose in life -“ She hurried her steps to catch up with Violet just as they got back to the parlour come lobby, and she managed to reach her hand around Violets arm to shake her. “Nobody walks out on Esme Squalor mid sentence!” 

Violet turned back only then, cradling her satchel in her arms. There was a nervous expression to her pretty features, one that put Esme on the back foot. _What was going on?_  

Violet slowly opened the flap of her bag and produced a blue and white ornate china sugar bowl. “Here.” She took a deep breath in offered Esme The Sugar Bowl. “My mother may have stolen it, even if it was for noble reasons; but I’m giving it back.” She sucked in her bottom lip and let it roll out her mouth again, unsure. “Please, take it.” 

Esme blinked at it, then stared away in disbelief. “You’re not, serious.” She touched her fingers to her forehead with one hand, making a fist with the other. For a moment Violet feared Esme was going to strike her, and her chest tensed. But instead, Esme cupped her hands around the porcelain Sugar Bowl and brought it slowly to her own chest, pressing it to her heart in a strange embrace. “Come closer.” Violet took a half-step forwards, placing the bag down and squeezing her hands tight, hoping desperately that Esme wouldn’t judge her too harshly. 

To have only just gotten the woman back in her life, though her life was splintering into some baffling shards with Esme’s new plan and both of their potentially blossoming attractions, it was such the case that bringing up the past like this could have some worrisome effects. It was likely true that the past was not something Esme would want brought up. But she had to make it right. “I’m so sorry,” She apologised. “We didn't always have it. Only after the Hotel Denouement and - “ 

Esme held her hand up, halting her rambling regrets mid sentence. Violet dipped her gaze slightly, taking a submissive tone. “Tie up your hair.” Esme ordered, giving her piece of gold ribbon, her voice husky and melancholy. 

“Why?” 

“Do as you’re told you awful human being,” She snapped brusquely. 

Violets brow knitted worriedly, as she took the ribbon in her finger and thumb. She reached up to tie her hair with a practised motion, slipping it under her long straight hair then looping it up and over to tie a pretty bow. Though the familiarity of such a motion warmed Esme somewhat, it wasn’t enough to stop her. 

Esme roughly grabbed the girl by the shoulders, spinning her round roughly to take hold of her by the ponytail, yanking her head back. She leaned down to peer over Violets shoulder, letting her eyes take in the sight, able to appreciate the soft sloping of Violets breasts, barely covered. She chuckled under her breath, a slick sound of metal on metal as she flicked open the switch blade. Violets eyes widened. She was mechanically minded enough to know that sound was something sharp.  

She felt another tug on her hair, making her neck sore being so tightly strained at such an angle. She whined, her eyes paling and watering a little. “Keep still darling,” Esme cooed, just as she flung her arm up, slicing right through Violet’s ponytail with the switch blade. She shrieked happily, holding the girls cut ponytail, ribbon and all. 

“What have you done?!” Violet choked out, feeling her short chopped hair with her hands in panic.  

Esme drew her shoulders back, as she lifted the lid off The Sugar Bowl, placing Violets ponytail like a trophy inside The Sugar Bowl. “Just a memento.” Heading for a glass cabinet, hips swaying to their own rhythm as she walked, she placed both The Sugar Bowl and its contents inside safely. 

Violet lunged after her, grabbing Esme’s arm and wrestling her for the switch blade, her short bangs swinging distractingly in her face. “I can’t believe you cut my hair - “

“Oh please it’ll grow back!” Esme struggled under the girl’s determined swiping hands and fought back, pulling at the sheet as Violet hung onto Esme’s arm to try and pull her hand toward her, but both lost hold of it and the blade skittered across the floor. “Ugh!” Esme shoved the girl off her, putting her hands on her hips. “I’ve just given you a smashing new haircut! The least you could do is appreciate it - ” She dragged a long body length mirror across the parlour marble floor to show her, how it made her neck look slim and slender. She snaked her touch from Violet neck up through her much shorter hair, playing with it and knotting it in her fingers. “So very … _in_.” She purred, kissing Violet’s neck and adding, “And now every time you look in the mirror you can remember how you _betrayed_ me.”

“I didn’t mean to!” Violet whined, squirming against Esme as the woman held her by the neck, holding her back to her. Her eyes pleaded with Esme, struggling to come up with a plan to turn it all around, lure Esme again into liking her and keeping her as a mistress and whatever the rest of her wicked plan was, for she didn't want to admit it, but it was exactly the sort of attention she craved. “I’ll make it up to you,” She whispered softly. 

“Make it up to me? MAKE IT UP TO ME?!” Esme raised her voice angrily, keeping a tight grip of Violet by the hair and dragged her across the parlour toward the lobby and the very long very high spiral staircase. “Darling there is nothing in this world you could do to possibly make up for the years of trying to kill you, the _years_ of agonising over this DAMN SUGAR BOWL only to have it handed to me after the first sex I’ve had in God knows how long and you just HAND it to me as if its NOTHING!” She violently threw Violet to the floor, and stood over her menacingly.

Violet hit the floor with a painful thud, no doubt bruising her hip and shoulder, catching only her upper half on her hands but slipping as she sheet she wore caused her to slide and skid unsteadily toward the top step. “I know what it means to you that’s why I kept it!”

“Oh I see … trying to hurt me as revenge for everything I did to you and your _rotten_ siblings?” Esme placed her foot and sharp stiletto heel on to Violets sheet, snapping her leg back and dragging it a way off her body. 

Violet writhed, awkward and frightened beneath her, one hand clutching the edge of the top step hoping it would be enough she wouldn't fall even if pushed, the other desperately clutching at the sheet to keep herself covered. “No! Because - !”

“What side of the Schism are you again?” Esme said nastily, dropping to one knee and lurching forwards, pushing Violet in the chest. Just as Violet cried out in fear, toppling backward she seized hold of Esme’s forearm in a desperate act of self preservation. 

“Because it’s all I had of you!” She screamed, finally admitting what she had held onto for so long. 

Esme stilled, staring at the panting panicked girl whose life she literally held in this moment. She _could_ let her fall. She was morally allowed to do so, surely? 

But where was the fun in that?

Slowly, angling her jaw and catching her breath, she straightened, finding the sophisticated woman hidden somewhere under the layers of murderous intent. She offered her other hand out to Violet, pulling her back from the edge of the precipice with a slow growing smile. Violet shuffled forwards away from the stairs, her eyes darting not knowing what she should do. “You’ve got it _bad_ , don't you,” Esme purred, nodding and brushing some uneven locks of recently chopped hair behind Violet’s ear. “You’ll damn well make it up to me.” She announced, as though a judge delivering her verdict, her judgement of the nobleness of Violet’s long held intentions, and desires. She hauled the girl to her feet, who hurriedly stepped back in to the parlour and relative safety, but when she looked back up Esme was there, and felt her hands take her hips hungrily. “Starting now.”

 


End file.
